


Worth Keeping: Eulogy

by vehlr



Series: AU: A Love Worth Keeping [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4617450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The funeral of Cassandra Pentaghast was never going to be easy. Prequel to 'Worth Keeping'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Keeping: Eulogy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrilliaOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/gifts).



The smell of Andraste’s Grace permeates the air, the soft white flowers adorning the coffin. Varric is beginning to hate the smell of them. Its presence always meant that another friend had died.

His eyes trail over the brief eulogy he had written down. He had read too many of the damned things. He closes his eyes, remembering them all. Daisy’s had been entirely in Elven, a recital of her greatest deeds and passions as Isabela had promised to meet her in the next life. Myra’s had been _awful_ , a jumble of terrible puns and religious prayer and Cullen completely silent. Blackwall’s, the very first, had been simple and brief – the best of him, despite the circumstances. He had even managed one for Bianca, though he had waited until after the funeral (not invited, of course) and simply sat by her grave and talked to her before heading to the inn and drinking himself stupid with the See-

His throat tightens. She had been there, every time, to hold his hand and pull him through the darkness. And now she was…

He shakes his head slightly, rising from the pew to take position at the stand.  
His eyes fall to the page. _Cassandra Pentaghast was a woman without equal in every aspect of her –_ He sighs, scrunching the page up. If ever there was a time and a place to go off-book, it was the one time she could not chastise him for it.

“Did I ever tell you how I met our Seeker?” he asks the congregation. “Probably not. She always hated me telling the story, it never really showed her, ah… best side.” He smiles, leaning against the stand. “She grabs me by the throat, hauls me up against the wall, demanding to know what I was going to do about the Knight-Captain… now, bear in mind, we’re in Kirkwall, and the Knight-Captain is standing right behind us looking at her like she’s gone mad. Of course, she didn’t mean Aveline. She meant Annaline, the Knight-Captain in my awful romance series, Swords and Shields.”

_She had hissed the name, fingers tightening around his neck, and he had stared into her eyes and seen the upset, the desire for better things. Varric might have fallen for her then.  
_

“Of course, Aveline arrested her and once she’d sobered up overnight in the cells, she was horribly embarrassed and ashamed and -”

_Gorgeous. She had been gorgeous, despite the glum look on her face and the hunch of her shoulders. Varric might have fallen for her then.  
_

“- and I promised her I’d make sure nothing too bad happened to Annaline, and the rest is history. She couldn’t quite shake me after that.” He chuckles. “But I’ll never forget that passion. Maker, she had passion.”

_Her smile, soft despite the edges she presented. Her laugh, warm and solid.  
_

He falters for a moment, waiting for her to urge him on as she always did when he slowed. The silence is terrible. 

“Death makes you think about a lot of things, and… I’ve done more of these speeches than I should have had to. But the thing I always remembered afterwards was what I should have said.” The smile fades as he recalls Myra’s funeral. “You can never get that chance back, right? And the amount of shit things I said to the Seeker… I always had something to apologise for, after every funeral. Kept a list, in the end. All the things I needed to apologise for, all the things I needed to say. And I crossed one off, every time.”

He pulls out his wallet, producing the battered list. “When Daisy died, I apologised to the Seeker for the cliffhanger at the end of the second book. It was a stupid thing, really, but it upset her. And I –“ _  
_

_It was the first time she had seen the inside of his apartment – far from the last time. She had cried into her tea, and he had told her bluntly that life was just as unfair, so why should the stories be any better?_

He swallows. “I did a lot worse, in the end. And I guess I missed my chance to say it all.”

_Her eyes, guarded. Her eyes, warmer for his conversation. Her eyes, suggesting more -  
_

He faces the coffin, clearing his throat. “Sorry for forgetting my umbrella every time it rained. I really do own one, I just… never take it anywhere. Sorry for making fun of your braid that time you got caught in the rain outside my apartment. It didn’t look like a rat-tail at all, I was just being a dick.”

_She had nearly slapped him for that one.  
_

“Sorry for stealing your drink at the bar and then blaming Myra.” He swallows again. “Sorry, Myra.”

_She had not believed him, but Myra had still somehow ended up on her bad side for a week. It was the month before they lost Myra. She had never quite forgiven herself.  
_

The list goes on, some trivial, some sad, and all tugging at the ache in his chest.

“Sorry I never told you how much your support meant to me after Bianca died. Sorry I never paid for that drink. Sorry I never – I never kissed you when I should have done, that night in the Hanged Man when everything went to shit. Believe me, I wanted to. Maker, I _really_ wanted to.”

His throat is tight, his chest burning. _Her smile, teasing and warm. Her laugh, secret and kind. Her surprise, full lips parted, tempting him to lean across –  
_

“Sorry I didn’t tell you… I didn’t tell you –“ The words come out as a sob, his hand covering his face. “I didn’t _tell_ you, _Maker_ , Seeker, I’m so sorry –“

Strong hands reach for his, and for a fanciful moment it might have been her – _should have been her_ , his heart screams. But Hawke pulls him into a tight embrace, whispering softly to him.

“It’s alright. She knew.”

“She can’t – shit, she can’t –“

“Come on. Come and sit down, Varric.”

He aches, hollow and lost, and he cannot tear his eyes away from the coffin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I should have told you – I can’t – I can’t, not this -” _  
_

_Cassandra, he had said. Her breath catching in her throat, her eyes wide. He had never called her that before. It was different – they were different, closer, inches away from -_

“Cassandra,” he sobs, curling in on himself as his arms wrap around his trembling body. His heart is screaming, agony enveloping him, a void of loss. “Shit, Cassandra, I can’t – please -”

_Don’t go. I love you. I love you, Cassandra Pentaghast. Don’t leave me._

*

It is heavy in his hands – a letter, a final parting gift. His thumb brushes over her neat script.

_Varric.  
_

He can hear it – the hundred ways she said his name over the years. Exasperated, usually, but more recently there had been a wonderful tone of affection weaved in somewhere between the letters. He had hoped –

Well. It did not matter anymore.

He reaches for the bottle, bringing it to his lips.

_Varric.  
_

Sharp, annoyed. That would have been it. She would not have stood for him drinking his pain away. After all, as he had told her long ago, life was not fair and yet it went on and on.

He lets out a long sigh. “Fuck it,” he murmurs, putting the bottle down. The letter remains on the kitchen table, unopened, as he drags himself to bed.

The dead never had anything worth saying, anyway.


End file.
